"Never mind," Josephine answered, "we can come again another day. Oh, how sweet these buds smell! I must add a postscript to my letter to father, and tell him the primroses are coming out; he's often talked to me of the primroses in Durley Dell. Oh, May, won't it be splendid if he is able to come home for a few days soon, as, if all goes well, he says he may?"
"Yes, indeed," May agreed. "I can imagine how you are longing to see him," she added; "I think you've been ever so brave all through the long, long winter."
"It's the suspense that's so hard to bear," Josephine said; "I feel it here." She laid her hand on her breast as she spoke. "It's a kind of sinking feeling," she explained; "I don't suppose you can understand what I mean."
May did not, but she looked sympathetic. She had grown to love Josephine, and admired her brave spirit; she knew now that that brave spirit found its strength in Christ—in faith in His perfect wisdom and love.
"How overcast it is," she said, as they left the dell for the lane, "I did not notice that under the trees. I think we ought to walk faster, don't you?"
Josephine agreed. She glanced up into the sky and noticed a heavy cloud right overhead. The fine weather had been too bright to last. In a few moments great drops of rain began to fall—slowly as yet.
"There's going to be a heavy shower!" exclaimed May. "Run, run! Mrs. Rumbelow will let us stand under her porch, I'm sure! The rain may not last very long!"
Two minutes later they had reached Vine Cottage, where they took shelter under the porch. Josephine knew Mrs. Rumbelow by sight now, for she had often seen her at the little mission church on Sunday mornings; but neither she nor May had ever spoken to her. On hearing their footsteps and voices, the old woman hastened to open her cottage door, and looked out.
"Oh, please," began May, "may we wait here for a few minutes—just until the shower is over?"
"You'll get wet, miss; the wind's blowing the rain this way," Mrs. Rumbelow answered. "Pray come inside."